


That is the Cost

by Jevvica



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Angst, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-18
Updated: 2014-08-18
Packaged: 2018-02-13 18:22:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2160462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jevvica/pseuds/Jevvica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It had been happening off and on since that convent, some secret darkness that his brothers would not share with him.<br/>And it stung far more than the cut of a sword.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That is the Cost

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [I Pay It Gladly](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1427380) by [Jevvica](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jevvica/pseuds/Jevvica). 



> As promised, this is Porthos' point of view for a section of “I Pay It Gladly”. They are companion pieces, but hopefully can stand alone.
> 
> Apparently, a lot of people thought “I Pay it Gladly” would be Mary Sue. Ew. No. I swear, it is just an exercise in seeing our boys through someone else's eyes.
> 
> Also, takes place after Season 1, so mind the spoilers.
> 
> I own very little and absolutely nothing related to The Musketeers.

Porthos surveyed the open, rolling meadow as they emerged from the trees. No sign of anyone yet and that was quite alright with Porthos. He'd prefer to deliver the Lady Caroline, political ambassador from England, safely to Calais as quickly as possible. The fighting at La Rochelle was not long past, still fresh in the minds of many. The death of an English noble on French soil would undoubtedly lead to conflict, if not all out war.

He listened, but heard nothing but the sounds of horses and birdsong. Hopefully Athos, d'Artagnan and the rest of their party were having as easy of a time, but Porthos was nothing if not practical. He doubted very much the men seen closing in on their small caravan were friendly. Thus, he and Aramis and Lady Caroline were trying to slip away, unnoticed.

She had been quiet for a while when all at once Lady Caroline turned to him.

“May I ask you something, Monsieur Porthos?”

Porthos shifted slightly in his saddle. Making polite conversation with lovely women was not his strong suit, but he nodded.

“Why did you want to accompany me?” Porthos thought about what she had said. About choosing the role of a minor envoy. She had no real power and no political protection, but she did have the freedom to travel and to learn and explore.

“You took a risk to live the life you wanted,” responded Porthos carefully. “I admire that.”

“Thank you.” Lady Caroline blushed and looked rather pleased, even as she continued. “Though you are very much so in a minority with that opinion.”

“I'm used to it, Excellency.” When wasn't he different? Singular in some way or another?

A flash of green separated itself from the line of trees.

“Company,” he called out. Lady Caroline's head whipped around to follow his gaze. Six mounted men were riding across the clearing toward them. Aramis' face was calculating as he make sure his musket was primed and ready. Porthos carefully removed a sphere from his saddlebag. It was an ace up his sleeve and Porthos had a feeling it was going to prove useful.

"Pardon us, gentlemen!" yelled one of the men as they rode closer.

"That is close enough," responded Aramis. His voice was smooth and genial, but his raised hand offered some warning. The man Porthos had first spotted, wearing a green cloak, spoke up.

"We are looking for a friend. She has been separated from our party." Porthos took a steady breath. There had been some small hope that these men weren't looking for Caroline. That was gone now.

"No lost women here," he said gruffly. Lady Caroline whispered softly from beneath her hood.

"Aramis, they're English."

"Yes," answered Aramis. "Their accents are atrocious. Do you recognize the voices?"

"I do not."

"Come now, you are certain you haven't seen her?” prodded the man in green. “What about your quiet friend, there?"

"We haven't seen whoever it is you're looking for, so, if you will move aside gentlemen, we are the King's Musketeers and we have an appointment to keep," said Aramis, losing some of his polished tone.

"Come now, Lady Caroline. Are you going to make this difficult?" Caroline startled at the sound of her name and the man laughed. “My, it's good we were watching the road for anyone trying to slip away. Because that won't do at all.”

The men slowly spread themselves out, weapons within easy reach and they had the look of those who knew how to use them.

Six on two were not preferred odds on most days. But even worse as they had someone to protect. Getting Lady Caroline safely out of France was their most important mission. He and Aramis needed something drastic to even the score. Porthos took another deep breath.

“Aramis, I'll take care of this and meet up with you later.”

“That is an awful plan,” answered Aramis, his jaw clenched.

“What choice do we have?”

“No,” refused Aramis sharply.

“I hate running. Besides,” he said giving Aramis a grin, “you know I've been wantin' to use it.”

“Porthos...” Aramis' eyes were stormy and worried.

Porthos felt a rush of warmth. There were parts of him that were always waiting for it all to fall apart. This life, his brothers, the Musketeers. Good things didn't last for Porthos. And Aramis had been different lately, distant and distracted. He'd worried for their friendship. But looking at Aramis now, he knew he needn't.

And that made this all the easier to do.

Aramis finally offered his glowing fuse and pressed it into Porthos' outstretched hand. He held Aramis' gaze a moment longer.

“I will meet you, Aramis.” He couldn't promise when or where, but Aramis knew that.

Porthos spurred his horse forward, drawing all the eyes of the men. He needed them to see him and not Aramis and not Caroline.

Porthos heard Aramis' voice, low and tense, instructing their charge.

“Stand aside,” ordered one of the men. “We only want the woman.”

“I'm 'fraid not,” answered Porthos, letting his voice lower. The man in green was still smiling, still friendly.

“There is no need for you or your friend to die. Just give her over.” Porthos held himself still, hands loose around the ball and the smoldering wick.

“No.”

“Is one English girl really worth your life? For that will be the price.” The big Musketeer thought on those words for a beat. It was one life now. But thousands later, when the death of an English emissary led to war with England.

If it stopped a war? If it kept one brave woman and his dearest friend alive a while longer? It was a simple choice.

“I pay it gladly.”

And Porthos played his hidden ace.

He'd confiscated the bomb from Vadim. It wasn't a weapon called for in parade duty or hunting with the King. But Porthos had hung on to it. If for no other reason, that it might be a bit of fun.

A twitch of his fingers to light the short fuse and he launched it at the feet of the six horses standing before him.

The sound was stunning. The explosion, the screams of dying horses, and the bellows of men filled Porthos' ears. He thought he heard Aramis, but he didn’t dare turn. He trusted Aramis to run fast and far and complete their mission.

Porthos peered through the smoke and dust, spotting one man who had manged to keep his seat on his horse. Porthos pulled his pistol and took careful aim, shooting the rider through the confusion. He dropped the pistol, drew his sword and swung down from his horse.

Porthos dispatched a man who was trapped beneath his horse and rounded, cutting down another who struggled to get his musket up and aimed. The shot went wide, but it echoed around Porthos' already thundering head.

The next man brought his sword down in an overhead strike. Porthos blocked it easily using both hands, but a slice of fire under his left arm surprised him. While he was parrying one attack, another had come from the side.

Porthos roared, kicking his head-on attacker back, swinging his sword widely, killing the man to his left. The man in front of him stumbled to his feet, quickly moving in to take advantage of Porthos being off balance. Porthos turned with the movement, rolling with the thrust rather than away. The man's momentum took him past his target and Porthos whirled, cutting the man down as he traveled by.

Porthos pressed his left arm to his side for a moment, pain burning brightly. He looked about and found his only remaining adversary.

The man in the green cloak stood en guarde, disbelief and rage twisting his face.

“You're a fool! And you've killed in the name of some woman you don't know?”

“Don't know much about politics,” said Porthos, balancing his stance, “but even I know this is about more than Lady Caroline.”

“So what if it is?”

“I'm a soldier,” answered Porthos evenly, shifting his sword to his left hand. “'T is my duty to protect this country. And if that means defendin' an envoy, then I do it.” The man in green advanced, and Porthos let him. He parried and then riposted with as much force as he could. There was no finesse. Porthos was not in the mood for a drawn out fight and the power of his strike slipped through the man's defenses.

“Besides,” muttered Porthos, looking down at the dead man. “I kinda like her.”

Porthos winced, his arm hanging limp. He looked about across the meadow, but there was no sign of anyone, including Aramis or Lady Caroline.

He blew out a long breath, weariness suddenly a heavy weight.

Nothing more to be done, it was up to Aramis now.

 

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

 

The explosion had spooked Bourbon, his horse, and he refused to come back. He stayed just inside the tree line, and bolted if Porthos tried to approach him.

So as he waited, Porthos tried to wrap the cut under his arm, but it hadn't gone well with one hand. He'd settled for packing some cloth between the wound and his doublet. It had been nearly night fall when Bourbon had finally wandered back to him. He spent a cool night wrapped in his cloak, trying to sleep through the hot throbbing in his side.

Come morning, he managed to climb into Bourbon's saddle and had pointed the horse toward Calais when a voice rang out over the early morning meadow.

“Porthos!?”

Porthos turned carefully in the saddle to look behind him. D'Artagnan rode up along side him. “Porthos, what are you doing here? Where's Aramis and the ambassador? Is that blood?” Porthos held up his hand, trying to stall the barrage of questions coming from the youngest Musketeer.

“We ran into a bit of trouble. Aramis and Lady Caroline are fine, far as I know” Porthos studied the open grassland. “How far back is the main group?”

“Not far, I'm just out scouting.”

“Were you attacked?”

“Yes, but they weren't much of a match for us and there hearts weren't really in it. They ran off pretty quickly.”

“Seems we got the ones with conviction,” muttered Porthos. “Lucky us.”

 

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

 

The look Athos gave him when he explained about the bomb was nearly expressionless, but Porthos had a lot of practice reading Athos. He was trying very hard not to smile.

“And it worked?”

“Like a charm,” boasted Porthos with a wide grin.

“And the wound you are trying to hide? Part of the charm?”

“That came after. And it's nothin'.” Athos wordlessly raised an eyebrow. Porthos pursed his lips, but slowly began removing his coat and shirt. He lifted his left arm with little more than a hum of discomfort, but Athos eyes flashed to his face before examining the cut.

“Well, I wouldn't call it nothing, but I believe you'll live. Too old to stitch now.” Athos pulled a roll of bandages out of a pack. “Aramis isn't going to be pleased.”

“As long as he made it to Calais safe, I'll handle anythin' he throws at me.” Athos firmly and carefully wound the fabric under Porthos' arms and around his ribs.

“I needn't tell you how wily Aramis can be. I'm sure he's fine.”

Athos voice was as smooth as ever, but a shadow passed over his face. Not concern for Aramis. Something else. An ugly feeling rose up in Porthos. It had been happening off and on since that convent, some secret darkness that his brothers would not share with him.

And it stung far more than the cut of a sword.

 

Ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

 

As they neared Calais, Porthos found his weariness replaced with anxious excitement. There'd been no sign of Aramis or Caroline. The group made their way through the city and as The Lady of the Port Inn came into view, Athos gave a slight nod. Porthos spurred Bourbon to a fast trot. He entered the courtyard of the Lady and swung down from his saddle. The movement sent an aching wave through his chest and he paused 'til it faded. Porthos tossed his reins to a sable boy as the main party filed into the courtyard. He started up the stairs as he heard a door open above him.

By the time he reached the balcony, Aramis and Lady Caroline were leaning over the rail, searching the courtyard below. Caroline smiled and waved to someone out of sight. Aramis' eyes were sharp, but he looked worried. Deep lines had carved their paths through his face in only the short time since Porthos had last seen him.

“Looking for someone?” called Porthos, relishing the drama. Aramis' head snapped around and Porthos was blasted with the full weight of his fear and hope.

Aramis shut his eyes and let his head drop between his hunched shoulders, hands still tight on the railing. After a few breaths, he looked up at Porthos and smiled, bright and genuine.

Porthos laughed and held out his hand. Aramis strode toward him, took his hand and and pulled him close. Aramis' arm brushed the wound across his ribs and Porthos tensed and pulled away before he could stop himself. Aramis stepped back quickly, the smile gone.

“You're hurt?”

“It's a scratch, I'm fine,” said Porthos, but Aramis didn't look particularly reassured.

“You will of course understand if I don't take your word for it. Let me see.”

“You know I will,” grumbled Porthos. He reached out and thumped Aramis' chest lightly. “Admit it. I frightened you.” He meant it to be teasing, to reassure his friend he was here and alive. Porthos was surprised when Aramis trapped his hand and held it to his chest.

Porthos could see the clouds in Aramis' eyes, even as he smiled and finished the joke.

“I was quaking.” A quiet cough reminded Porthos they were not alone. He quickly turned and bowed to Lady Caroline. As he stood, Porthos could not have been more surprised when Caroline dropped into a deep curtsy.

“I am not a fool, Monsieur Porthos,” she began. “I do not think myself grand because of an accident of birth. I know much of who and what I am is due to chance and luck. And you prove it further. I owe you everything, for what you did.” Porthos blinked. He'd been doing his job, his duty. He didn't know quite how to respond.

He crossed to Caroline and held out a hand.

“I woulda done it for anyone,” he said, bringing her to her feet.

“I know,” responded Caroline, her eyes shining. “I know and believe me, it does not diminish the act in my eyes. The knowledge that you would sacrifice like that for anyone only adds to your esteem. Whether it was for me or for peace, it does not matter. You fight for people who cannot fight for themselves. _That_ is bravery. _That_ is heroic.”

Porthos' heart thundered in his ears. All he'd ever wanted to be was someone that mattered. Wasn't cast off or ignored like trash. Porthos wanted to make a difference. Have honor. This fine woman who had dined with royalty and traveled the world thought him heroic.

Porthos smiled.

“'M not usually the hero.” The muscle, the power, the brute. Not the hero.

“I find that very hard to believe, Monsieur. Today, you most certainly are.”

Porthos looked at his feet, appalled to feel his cheeks burn.

“My lady!” The happy cry came from the courtyard below. She smiled at him and hurried down the steps to join her attendants.

Aramis motioned toward the door that he and Lady Caroline had come out of. Porthos followed him in and surveyed the room. Large bed against the wall, a table with one chair, as the other was next to the window.

“Take your shirt off,” ordered Aramis easily. “I'll go get some food and wine.” Porthos sat heavily on one of the chairs and shut his eyes for a moment. Just a moment of quiet and then he'd...

He nearly fell off the chair when the door was opened by Aramis, hands full of the promised dinner. Seemed that moment had turned into several.

“Are you alright?” asked Aramis, dark eyes sharp and focused as he placed the food on the table.

How did he explain how Aramis' steady voice made him better, lessened the pain, pushed back the fatigue?

“Better now,” Porthos said roughly.

Aramis was quiet and confident, lighting candles and quickly helping Porthos out of his doublet and shirt. Nimble fingers unwound the bandage around his chest.

Porthos couldn't stop the pained breath that hissed through his teeth as he lifted his arm so Aramis could see.

“Easy,” murmured Aramis as he caught Porthos' elbow and held it, taking the weight from Porthos' pulling muscles.

Aramis hummed thoughtfully, his fingertips cool against the inflamed skin. Porthos tried to hold still, but the flesh jumped in reaction to the prodding.

“Well,” said Aramis, lowering Porthos' arm slowly, “it doesn't look to be infected, just raw. I would have liked to stitch it, but that time is long past. You'll have to be careful, Porthos, or it'll never knit.” Porthos couldn't help but smile at the faintly reproving tone. Aramis was a right mother hen, sometimes.

“Ay, mother, I'll do my best.” Aramis went to his pack for ointment and a fresh bandage.

“Your best,” he muttered as he applied the medicine and began to wrap the cloth under Porthos' arms. “Your best will probably entail the exact opposite of being careful.”

“Not on purpose.” Aramis snorted and tied off the bandage.

“That should hold for now. Food?” Porthos thought about it, but shook his head. He was too tired to be hungry and for him, that was saying something. It was clear in the masked alarm on Aramis' face.

“'M fine,” he reassured, holding up a hand. “Later. I promise. Will take some wine, though.” Aramis stared at him for a long moment before tearing into the loaf of bread himself and passing over the bottle. Porthos poured a cup and took a healthy swig before speaking.

“Lady Caroline is a lovely woman.”

“Yes,” said Aramis. “A very lovely woman.”

“And you do love your damsels in distress.”

“She conducted herself with great composure. I was rather impressed.”

“Oh? And you didn't see any need to comfort her?” Aramis' eyes narrowed slightly.

“She is rather fond of her Captain Edwards.”

“When has that ever stopped you? Or perhaps you needed the comfortin'?” Porthos hated this. This line of questions. The wariness in Aramis' eyes. Questioning Caroline's conduct.

“What is this about?”

He wasn't going to tell him.

Porthos wasn't sure what had happened between Aramis and the Queen, but he knew something had. The shattered look on his face when her pregnancy was announced. The dark, warning glances that Aramis and Athos had been sharing.

He wasn't a fool. And he wasn't blind.

He knew what it all pointed to, but Porthos desperately wanted to believe his friend would not keep this from him.

Had he given Aramis reason to doubt him?

“Nothing.”

“Porthos?”

He tried to smile, to look contrite, but he felt it fail. _Because my best friend does not trust me._

“It's nothing. I'm tired.” Aramis stared at him, dark eyes stormy. “We're back on the road tomorrow. I'd like a little sleep.”

“Of course,” said Aramis smoothly, but there was a stiffness that Porthos couldn't ignore.

“I didn't mean to insult you,” offered Porthos. “You just...tend to find distraction where you can. It couldn't of been easy, waitin' for us to turn up.” He watched Aramis' shoulders relax and felt his own mirror the action. He didn't want to fight. He didn't want this between them.

Without a word, Aramis herded him to the bed and helped him settle. Lying down was uncomfortable, so Porthos leaned against the headboard.

Aramis stretched out beside him and the exhaustion that Porthos had first noticed was back. They breathed together quietly before Aramis finally spoke.

“I thought of Savoy. Of finding my brothers dead along the road. I thought of being alone.” Aramis rested his cheek against Porthos' leg. His voice was soft and thick. “You're right. It was not easy.”

Porthos rested a his hand on Aramis' shoulder.

“'M here. Athos and d'Artagnan are here. It's alright.” It wasn't long before Aramis' breath was a quiet snore against his thigh.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

A short time later, the door to the room opened suddenly, revealing a surprised Lady Caroline.

“Oh, Monsieur Porthos,” she cried, hands fluttering, “forgive me, I...” Porthos held up a finger, urging her to quiet and then motioned her into the room. She gingerly stepped toward the bed, but a soft smile graced her face when she saw Aramis sleeping soundly.

“How are you, Monsieur Porthos?” she whispered. “Are you badly wounded? Do you need anything?” Porthos

“Nah, a little cut, nothing too bad. Aramis saw to it.”

“I am glad of it. And I'm glad he's finally sleeping.” Caroline looked back down at Aramis, her face thoughtful. “He found it very hard to rest while you were gone.”

“He's a worrier, our Aramis,” he agreed with a nod. Porthos looked up at the English noblewoman. “Wanted to thank you.”

“Me?!” exclaimed Lady Caroline. She quickly lowered her voice, but the surprise was still apparent. “What could you possibly have to thank me for?”

How could he explain Aramis? A cheerful campfire that could swell into a wildfire, if the wind blew just so. Warm and friendly in one turn and scathing and dangerous in the next.

“I know how he seems,” he began slowly. “All charmin' talk and smooth manners. But when Aramis is worked up? Frettin'? He can be a bit destructive. Makes bad choices.”

“I never felt like he was going to be violent,” said Caroline, puzzled.

_The warning in Athos' eyes. The way Aramis won't meet his gaze._

“Not always that kind of destruction,” he said softly. Porthos shook himself. “Don't matter. What matters is he didn't, and I don't know what you did, if you even knew you did anythin'. I'm still grateful.”

“I could never begin to repay you and the Musketeers for seeing us safely here. I'm glad to have been of some use, even if I've no idea what it was,” said Caroline earnestly. Her brows furrowed slightly “We talked a lot. There was little else to do.”

“Aramis likes to talk. Athos doesn't. And I'm not good at it, not the way Aramis is.” he shrugged and winced at the pull in his side. “Might have been it.”

Lady Caroline's frown deepened.

“Are you certain you don't need anything, Monsieur Porthos? You look like you're in pain.” Porthos shook his head firmly. The discomfort was small and he had already been far too frank with the envoy.

“Please, Mademoiselle. I'm fine. No need to worry.”

“As you say,” said Caroline. “I will bid you goodnight, then.” She quietly gathered her belongings and left the room.

Porthos looked down at the slumbering man next to him. Aramis was hiding something. But tonight, Porthos could not help but be content with having his friends safe under one roof, a mission nearly completed. He idly ran his fingers through Aramis' wild hair.

It would do. For now.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I like the idea of writing a fic where Porthos finds out about Anne and Aramis.  
> I might do it yet.


End file.
